


Babel On

by IdicSavant



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3156986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdicSavant/pseuds/IdicSavant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an episode tag for "Journey to Babel"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Babel On

Captain James T. Kirk awoke and immediately looked across sickbay.

He struggled into an upright position, but that vantage didn’t alter his first impression. Spock was gone.

Kirk slid his legs over the side as quietly as possible in deference to Vulcan hearing, although Sarek seemed soundly asleep. Amanda was nowhere to be seen.

~*~*~

Spock’s door slid open immediately and Kirk walked in to see his first officer back in uniform and seated at his computer.

“Spock, it’s—” His admonition about the time and the imprudence of the Vulcan being up and about this soon after the transfusion was lost when Spock sprang to his feet.

“Captain, you should not have left sickbay.” Strong fingers circled his arm and he was directed to the other chair with silent command that made nothing of their respective ranks and everything of Spock’s concern for him; that made Kirk go meekly.

“I woke up,” he said as Spock looked sternly down at him. “You were gone. I got worried.”

“I am perfectly well, captain. I awoke and decided to attend to some of the work that has backed up while we have been …” In about a second he skipped over his entire personal trauma “… shepherding the delegates to Babel.” He moved around the desk and sat behind the monitor again, setting his fingers to the keys. He tapped his forefinger against one key, several times, irritation rather than productivity. “But that is no reason for you to be wandering the ship at this hour when you should be recuperating.”

Sheepish for a moment, Kirk straightened up. “What do you mean, wandering? Last time I checked, I was still the captain.”

Spock had the grace to appear taken aback.

“I merely meant …”

“Never mind.” Kirk smiled, waved a hand. “I know. I … appreciate it.” They looked awkwardly at one another for a moment before Kirk said, “Don’t let me stop you if you were in the middle of something.”

“It will only take a moment,” Spock said, returning his attention to the terminal.

Jim watched his first officer’s elegant fingers fly over the keyboard, eternally comforting in their exact dance. Science as art – perfect, like everything Spock did. Jim smiled to realize that, after all this time, even _he_ idealized his friend a little.

When Spock paused, Jim fumbled for the words he’d wanted to say for a few days now. Words that had driven him from his sickbed – well, no. Not the words. The feeling behind the words. The concern and the affection that he sometimes took for granted – and sometimes, like now, felt a need to express.

Only when Spock rested his twined hands on the table and glanced, head cocked, at him, did he manage to speak.

“Spock. I just wanted to say … your father—”

Wariness tightened Spock’s face.

“He’s a very wise and good man. And whether either of you will admit it or not, it’s clear he loves you. But he was wrong about you. He was wrong to not accept you and your choices. And … I wanted to say that I … I take the point. I won’t keep trying to change you myself. Make you more … human.” He lowered his gaze, wishing he could deny that, in his own way, he had been as intolerant as Sarek of Spock’s differences – and for even more selfish a motive.

“Captain ...” Spock seemed to reconsider. “Jim. You have never given me the impression that you are disappointed with me.”

Startled, Kirk looked up. “I’ve never ... I can’t imagine being disappointed with you.” He shook his head at the very idea. “The stars will burn out first.”

With an arched brow, Spock rested his case.

Kirk smiled. “Okay. I take your point as well. Now will you shut that thing down and get some rest?”

Spock’s mouth pursed. “I should prefer not to return to sickbay.”

“All right. But—”

“And I should prefer that you also remember the severity of your injury and—”

Kirk held up both hands. “I’m going, I’m going!”

Again, the brow. “Back to sickbay?”

“My quarters are closer.” Kirk started to stand and in a split second Spock was at his side, lifting and steadying him.

Kirk intended to protest but found himself distracted by the deep, cramping pain in his back and sides. He focused on breathing shallowly and not making any noise, although he had no hope of Spock not noticing.

They were in his quarters and Spock maneuvering him onto his bunk when he remembered.

“Bones. He’ll—”

“I shall contact Dr. McCoy and inform him of the whereabouts of two-thirds of his patient complement,” Spock said.

“That’ll make his day,” Kirk groused as he let Spock lay him out. It did feel better to get the strain off his back and side; he felt acutely the release of surrounding muscles he hadn’t realized were clenched.

Spock collected a blanket and began to cover him.

“You don’t need to tuck me in,” Kirk said, smiling as Spock paused. “Not that I mind.”

Mouth twitching in amusement and embarrassment, Spock set the blanket down and turned to go.

Kirk caught his wrist. Spock turned, looked down at him, unreadable.

“Thank you. For being exactly who you are.”

Spock’s stillness changed, in that instant, unless Kirk was delirious (which he had to admit was possible), from patience and amusement to a kind of warm shock that Kirk felt in the flesh and bone under his hand.

His mouth opened, just a fraction, and closed – and as clearly as if they were linked Jim _knew_ Spock was chickening out of something. His lips compressed for a moment, then relaxed.

“Rest well.”

Kirk let go – allowing Spock to back down from whatever impulse had taken him for that instant.

But if there was one thing James Kirk found irresistible, it was fathoming Spock’s impulses.

~*~*~

The next day they arrived at Babel and the departure of their guests. None of whom would be particularly missed, Kirk thought, although he was profoundly gratified to see that the rift between Spock and his father had been healed.

“Live long and prosper, my father,” Spock said, his tone paradoxically both formal and warm.

“Live long and prosper, my son,” Sarek said, and – fanciful though it might be – Jim felt Spock’s inner smile.

Spock performed a little half bow. “Captain, if you’ll excuse me I wish to speak to Commander Scott about the reassignment of Ensign Briggs.”

Kirk nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll see you on the bridge later. And, Mr. Spock –”

Spock paused, half turned, and looked back.

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Nothing in particular.” Jim grinned; he felt sure Spock recognized the echo of his thanks from the night before. “Go ahead.”

Spock and his father exchanged an arched-browed glance while Jim caught Amanda’s eye and gave her a tiny smile. She beamed at him in response as Spock walked away.

Only then did Sarek say: “My wife, will you permit me to speak to Captain Kirk for a moment privately?”

She hesitated, clearly surprised and reluctant.

“Surely I may …” She glanced at Kirk, seemed to reconsider, looking back at Sarek. Puzzled, Kirk observed the silent communication between them,  though with no idea what it meant.

“Yes,” Amanda said with a smile, “of course. I understand.” She turned to Kirk and, when he would have taken her hand for a formal farewell, moved in and lightly kissed both his cheeks. Though she was human, she had lived so long on Vulcan that Kirk found himself astonished at her familiarity – particularly in front of her husband.

But Sarek’s expression was …. calm, indulgent, even, as she smiled at Jim and said, “I hope we shall see you and Spock again soon.”

Completely at a loss, Kirk said, “Thank you, Mrs – Amanda.”

She walked to the shuttle and Kirk watched, trying to understand the affection in her face and voice. Surely he’d done nothing to earn it, though he knew she appreciated the importance of a true friend for someone as innately alone as her son. He didn’t know her well enough to guess what she would feel if she understood how much more than a friend he wanted to be.

Kirk returned his attention to Sarek, who offered the tiny bow that was the Vulcan sign of respect.

“Captain Kirk. Thank you for your hospitality, and your efforts which went far beyond the calls of both hospitality and duty.”

Kirk smiled. “There are other calls, ambassador.”

Sarek nodded. “Yes. If I may briefly touch upon a very … personal point, in response to just such a call?”

Apprehension chilled Kirk’s stomach – an abrupt shock – but he waited for Sarek to continue.

“My son holds you in very high esteem, captain. Indeed, the very highest.”

Kirk felt an irresistible smile pull at his lips. “The feeling is entirely mutual, Ambassador. Your son is the finest officer and the finest man I have ever had the privilege to know, a credit, in my opinion, to both his father’s race and his mother’s .”

Sarek offered a gracious nod at the compliment, but his brow remained furrowed, expressing an issue unaddressed.

“There … is more to it, captain. I …” He shook his head. “I do not wish to pry into my son’s personal affairs or your own, but it appears you are not entirely aware of the … depth and … nature of Spock’s attachment to you.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Ambassador. Are you suggesting your son …” _Is in love with me?_ But the words that seemed to leap so keenly to his mind wouldn’t come out past the knot in his throat. _Is that what he thinks? Is it what I think? Why was that the first thing that came to me?_

“My son is, after all, half human,” Sarek said, as if excusing a weakness – which, Kirk figured, he probably felt he was. “It is, further, a misconception that Vulcans have no emotions. We control them, we do not attempt to eradicate them. To erase a part of what we are would be highly illogical.”

Kirk stared at Sarek, aware his jaw was working but that no sound – no thought – was forming.

“The invasion of another being’s privacy is odious to us, and if I am so intruding, I beg your pardon. But my concern for my son, I hope, will to some extent explain and excuse my treading on potentially offensive ground.”

Kirk smiled again, blankly, he knew, but hoped that was a nuance which might escape a Vulcan’s discernment.

“I understand your interest in your son’s welfare, ambassador, and it’s obviously an interest I share. I’m not offended, but I am confused.”

“I desire only to assure you that I and my wife are most pleased with Spock’s current situation,” Sarek said, while Kirk continued to stare. “After consideration, and, I must confess, some small surprise, we view it as both logical and beneficial. I wished to say in parting that it might benefit you, captain, to consider the circumstances closely, with an eye to what you might truly desire for your own future. And Spock’s.”

Sarek bowed again, taking Jim’s silence for acquiescence – Jim guessed – and followed his wife to the shuttlecraft.

It had launched before Kirk was able to stop shaking his head in total befuddlement.

~*~*~

 “ … and _this_ –” Spock didn’t throw tantrums, not even small ones, but his posture, his expression of distaste, and the stiff way he extended the tape to his captain clearly illustrated his irritation, “is the official Orion protest at our accusations regarding their actions in the Coridan situation.”

Jim took it and sighed, eyeing it balefully. “A full hour of tearful protestations of innocence and impassioned cries of harassment, I take it.”

“No sir.” Spock’s tone remained sharp, sour, but still clearly directed at the circumstances, and not the captain. “Ninety seven point three minutes.”

Jim smiled, even in his impatience grateful that Spock understood and sympathized about the tedium of politics. He stacked the tape on top of the others, a dozen recordings of praise and complaints resulting from their few days playing host to the Federation’s finest. _Diplomats_.

“I’ll look at it later.” After a stiff belt, he thought, but didn’t say. “Is that all?”

“Yes sir.” Spock hesitated, his spine and expression easing fractionally. “And if I may suggest it–”

Knowing what was coming, Jim muttered, “As if I could stop you.”

“—your duty shift ends in one hour. As there are no urgent matters for you to deal with, it would facilitate your recovery if you ceased work now and rested while you had the opportunity.”

“Yes mother.” Jim got up, stretching carefully.

“Your own mother no doubt possessed patience far exceeding that of even a Vulcan,” Spock replied, and Jim stopped, staring at his exec in a combination of amazement and affection at Spock’s effrontery.

When, after innocently scanning the ceiling, Spock allowed his eyes to rest on Jim, perhaps checking to see if he’d gone too far, the captain could only grin. And the way Spock’s face brightened, just for an instant – so slightly that only his captain, probably, could have recognized it – warmed Jim like a hug.

“I have to say she did,” he admitted, then, relying on his excellent sense of when to take a risk, added, “But even she didn’t look after me as well as you do.”

Spock’s gaze fell away, and Jim recognized embarrassment.

“It is … in my best interest to do so.”

“ _Your_ best interest?” Jim teased, bending to shut off his terminal. “What about Star Fleet’s?” An abrupt throb in his back made him wince, and Spock started forward, then caught himself.

“Are you all right?”

“Just hurts.” With some effort, he held his smile and sat down again, leaning back, making himself as comfortable as his injury would allow. He could see in Spock’s minute scowl that he wasn’t hiding the pain as well as he wanted to.

 “I’ll take it easy. But … can we talk for a minute? Personally, I mean.” As a friend, he’d almost said, but his instincts were whispering to him that this conversation was likely to go in a much less innocent direction.

Without evident reluctance Spock waited, arms behind him in his usual peaceful but alert posture.

 “Spock, your father spoke with me briefly before he left.”

Spock didn’t reply; a few seconds was enough for Jim to realize he’d said, essentially, nothing.

“He … he apologized for bringing up a personal topic, then told me that he didn’t think I understood the … depth or nature of … our relationship.”

The at-ease posture tightened gradually – perceptibly – throughout his statement.

“He – I didn’t understand what he was getting at, Spock, and he refused to elaborate. He would only …” Kirk reexamined the conversation in his thoughts, spread his hands helplessly. “I’m sorry, Spock. He – the only way I can put it is that he alluded to your – regard for me and indicated that it had his approval.” Kirk looked into Spock’s stony face, now seeing no clues. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I simply – I thought you should know, and I admit I hoped you could explain it to me. It was almost as if he were giving me – giving _us_ – his blessing.” Belatedly he added, “If you know what that is. It’s an old Earth custom—”

“I know what it is,” Spock cut in, quick, stiff, as though embarrassed – which made Kirk even more uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry. If it’s any comfort, we parted very civilly. I don’t think I did anything to embarrass you.”

“You could not,” Spock’s voice, though uncharacteristically rough, was sincere.

“Then …” Kirk paused, breathed, swallowed. “Then can you explain to me what … if …” He sighed. His attempts to be formal and calm, to avoid embarrassing Spock further, were only succeeding in making him seem stiff, official – and as off-putting as he possibly could be.

He closed his eyes, marshalling simple honesty. “Spock – we won’t discuss this if you don’t wish to. Whatever feelings a man – human or Vulcan – wishes to keep in the privacy of his heart, he has a right to.” He knew he didn’t need to add the caveat that any danger to ship, mission or crew obviated that “right.” “But—”

“My father – misunderstood.” Again, Spock’s words were rough, blurted, as though forced out of him.

Kirk considered. Surrendered. “Misunderstood what? Wait a minute, are you saying you _don’t_ have a high opinion of me?” He didn’t really think it, but he had to confess inwardly to a twinge of relief when Spock immediately said:

“Of course not. Sarek … because of the events surrounding … that is, what happened during my … the time of my—”

“Yes,” Kirk said, gently, eager to spare Spock any more discomfort. “I remember. Are you saying that those events led him to believe that you have … um … stronger feelings toward me … _other_ feelings, that is, than … than previously assumed?”

He was babbling again; he didn’t need to see the overly patient closing of Spock’s eyes to know it.

“No.” Spock said, and Kirk was confused all over again. “My father did not misunderstand the depth or nature of my … feelings.” Each word was ground out, jagged-edged with Spock’s reluctance – and yet, he _was_ speaking, Kirk thought. He hadn’t ordered it – couldn’t, and wouldn’t if he could – but Spock _was_ speaking. “He misunderstood our … relationship.” He was stiff as a statue now, hands locked behind him, stare fixed to the bulkhead behind his still-befuddled captain.

“Spock, I’m sorry. Am I especially dense today? You father spoke to me as if you and I were … well, I would have said betrothed. Lovers. He must know we aren’t, so …”

Spock was blushing.

“Sp …” Kirk’s voice failed him; he tried again. “Your father thinks you and I …” He flushed as well, physically, emotionally … a heat not of shame but of confusion and a certain element of … delight. Hope, even. “Why would he think that?”

“Captain … Vulcans do not engage in overt verbal or physical displays of affection.”

“I know that—”

“But you would have known, would you not, that my parents are married, simply by observing their behavior?”

Kirk considered. “Yes, I think so.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Small things. The way they looked at one another. The tone of their voices when they spoke to one another. The way they behaved toward one another, gestures, touches … the way that, sometimes, they were in their own private world together, even when they were in public …”

Spock very pointedly said nothing as Kirk trailed off. Blushed again, hot and excited and awkward.

“But—”

“Jim.” Spock’s eyelids fell, heavily, as if all this were too much to bear. “Do you not love me?”

Startled – not at the idea, but at hearing Spock say it like that – Kirk blurted, “Well, of course.  But—”

The narrow shoulders rose slightly. “It shows. To my parents, my … feelings are also evident. My father’s … error lay in misreading you, not me.”

Kirk sat still, mind whirling. “Spock … will you please speak plainly? Your father saw that … we love each other, and misunderstood it? Is that what you’re saying?”

“My father assumed that your feelings toward me were the same as mine toward you, and he wished to indicate that … the … liaison had his blessing.” Finally Spock opened his eyes. “He meant no offense. The opposite. His unfamiliarity with humans and their … ways … must to some extent excuse his error. But I do not know why he did not speak to me first.”

The truth pounded in Kirk’s head, too loud and startling for him to grasp it at first. He held up a hand and Spock fell silent, shoulders drooping. The most startling thing of all, Kirk realized, was that he was only surprised. Not shocked, not offended, not insulted … not at all unwilling to look at a possibility that he’d shut off in the back of his brain some months ago, assuming it to be an _im_ possibility. It was the direction this was coming from, not the thing itself, that had startled him. But he knew how to think on his feet better than anyone in the Fleet.

“Spock,” he said finally. Again wariness – Spock knew that tone of voice and it wasn’t what he was expecting.

“Do you want to marry me?” Jim asked.

Spock didn’t mistake the question for a proposal, but he clearly had no idea what was in back of it; he looked at Kirk for a long moment, his face unreadable.

Kirk waited, and that patience somehow made Spock relax, just a little, enough to sigh faintly.

“Beyond all the concerns, obstacles and considerations, both personal and professional …”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“You cannot expect to simply—“

Jim shook his head. “Just answer me.”

“It would certainly raise—”

“Yes or no, Spock,” Jim said softly.

A brow rose. “Given that choice … yes.”

Jim smiled. He had no idea why – surely he didn’t want to marry Spock, at least not at this instant – but that confession made Jim suddenly … want to turn cartwheels. Made him want to kiss Spock. That, probably, he should do – but he didn’t know how.

His smile was clearly unnerving his first officer. “Jim …”

“We probably ought to … date first,” Kirk said. This was … bizarre and wonderful, and he was very nervous. And happy. It was a huge step into the unknown, but he’d taken worse – far worse – with Spock at his side.

“Captain—” This time Spock’s tone was clear – he thought Kirk was teasing him.

Kirk shook his head. “No. Hear me out. I … this is a surprise to me. But it’s not … unwelcome. That is … you must have realized that I felt more than just friendship for you.” He’d tried to hide his physical attraction, but Spock knew him awfully well.

“I …” Spock looked away. “… have wondered.”

Jim smiled. Spock didn’t miss much, for all his outward asceticism.

“You are a … sensual being. It … I have not been certain, sometimes, if that physical affection extended to me as your friend, or as …”

“As much more than a friend,” Jim corrected softly. “You are. You are so much more than a friend to me. I am a better man for knowing you, and I know of no higher praise than that. I had … believed – assumed – you would not want to take this step – the step of physical … sexual … intimacy – with me. But if you do –”

“Jim.” Spock interrupted him, his voice low and rough. He took hold of Jim’s arms, hard but short of painful, and drew him in, and Jim felt the temperature inside him leap, as from a gulp of Saurian brandy. Had he wanted to resist, which he didn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to. The combination of faith and irresistible gut fear – the few times Spock had proven his greater strength had been deeply unnerving – was strange and intoxicating to Jim. He’d never put desire and surrender together – _Jim Kirk? Never!_   – and the combination was explosive.

In contrast to the irresistible grip on his arms, Spock’s mouth came to his gently, the touch exploratory, wondering, tickling across Jim’s lips and senses, luring him with scent and touch, hot and alien-familiar, and when he opened, just a little, to breathe it in, Spock’s tongue tested the space between, dry red desert and hot green blood, penetrating, filling Jim’s awareness … so strange, so alien, _so familiar, my god this is Spock, Spock, at last …_

Then the brush of Spock’s mind, a sparkle of quicksilver splashed across the surface of Jim’s thoughts, surprise and joy and desire like light on deep waters; that hint of depth carried the danger of drowning, but it was a fear Jim thrilled to take on. He clutched Spock’s shoulders and pulled them closer, his head spinning; it was a moment before he realized his Vulcan had lifted him in his arms – and another to realize he’d been gently set back on his feet, almost before the spasm of deep pain clutched at his back.

“Jim –” Spock’s tone melted with apology as his hands gentled, curling around Jim’s back, feeling at the edges of the now-small bandage under Jim’s shirt.

Jim smiled, despite knowing Spock sensed the pain as well as seeing it behind that smile. “Don’t. If I forgot for a minute, how could I expect you to remember?” At this instant he cursed the injury more than at any earlier moment. “I want to forget it.” He pulled again at Spock’s shoulders, now stiff, and let his smile show how much, and exactly why. “Help me to.”

Spock held his gaze, his expression grave, his eyes so dark, so full of feeling that Jim couldn’t resist hauling his head down for a kiss, commandeering the moment to express with his mouth, with his fingers reverent on the elegant arches of Spock’s ears, how much he wanted this.

He couldn’t block the pain – Spock’s fingers traced his tight back muscles, reading it there as his featherlight mental connection saw it in Jim’s mind – but he could sure show Spock how to take his mind off it.

Spock separated their lips a micron to murmur, “I wish to make love to you. But carefully,” into the warm air between them. Jim touched Spock’s upper lip with his tongue, slipping his hands under the Vulcan’s shirt to tickle through his chest hair. The wiry feel of it across his palms, the burn-hot skin underneath against his fingertips – _god_. Had he always wanted to do this, so badly that it felt like water to a man dying of thirst?

He breathed in, raggedly, and said, “I … am always careful.”

Spock stilled, and Jim smiled, opening his eyes to an entirely expected expression of Vulcan disbelief. The expression darkened and Spock took hold of the edges of Jim’s shirt and slid it off him in a swift motion, then crushed Jim’s body against his – carefully, his hands framing Jim’s injury to protect it from pressure. They had touched before, of course, but not in this total, intimate way, with Spock’s entire length molded to Jim’s, hot, hard, heavy, like living molten iron.

“You do not know the meaning of the word,” Spock said against his ear, and again Jim felt the tickle of his thoughts, fiery and aroused and amused – joyous.

He gave the universal gesture of surrender. “I put myself in your capable hands.” And what had been meant as at least in part a joke turned to a simple statement of utter faith. He swallowed the rush of emotion, knowing Spock saw it in his eyes – knowing it by the dark fire he saw sparking in the black depths, by the way Spock’s irresistible strength pulled them tighter together.

“Will you,” Spock asked – demanded – into his ear, and Jim shivered.

“Only you,” he whispered, confession to Spock and, to himself, permission – permission to be vulnerable, to be led, to be commanded. _Only you_.

Spock’s mouth covered his, hot, breathing in that confession and that permission, drawing Jim’s breath and thought out of him and replacing it with flame, flame throughout his body and mind, licking at his nerve endings, burning reason to ash. Engulfed by red Vulcan sun, hammered by the pounding heat, he melted willingly.

~*~*~

Only when Spock’s gentle fingers picked away the bandage on his back did Jim trouble to do more than lie there in sated contentment.

He briefly lifted his face to mutter, “I’m fine.” Then grinned into the pillow. “Perfect.”

A pause. “I am simply making sure the sutures have held.” The bandage was stroked back into place and Jim turned himself over, like pouring out a cup of honey. The image would have made him smile had he not already been smiling.

Spock looked down at him, dark eyes shadowed, face grave as ever, but Jim still felt their connection, an unbreakable tractor beam between them, a force-field of strength around the two of them. Those thoughts broadened the smile, and Spock cocked his head, silently asking.

Jim reached out – instinctively – to touch Spock’s chest. Then changed direction, laying his fingers against Spock’s lower ribcage, over his heart. Though Vulcans did not romanticize the organ, Spock would understand the human significance of the gesture.

“Vulcans are not inclined toward casual physical relationships, I take it?” _Why would they be, Jim boy, when they aren’t casual about anything else?_

“Vulcans are realists—” Spock began, his tone falsely light.

“ _Spock_.”

Spock laid his own hand over Jim’s, pressing it against his beating heart, then caught and held his gaze. “No. We are not … casual.”

Jim nodded. Another thing he excelled at was making quick decisions with a whole heart. And if his instincts were ever to lead him wrong in that regard, it certainly wasn’t now – not if it involved Spock.

_Then again, was this a quick decision, or acknowledgement of a longtime truth?_

“Good,” he said, and Spock’s hand on his tightened, a pulse of understanding.

“There would be difficulties …” Spock began.

“You mean there _will_ be,” Jim said, turning Spock’s theory into a fact – into a promise, one that Spock clearly heard. “There’s not a difficulty in the universe you and I can’t handle together.”

Spock shook his head, marveling. “Only you can say that, and mean it, and make it so.”

Jim smiled. “No. Only _we_ can. And we will.”

 

The End

 


End file.
